


Home for Christmas

by Antheas_Blackberry



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent, Christmas, Cliches abound, Don't copy to another site, Love, M/M, Memories, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/pseuds/Antheas_Blackberry
Summary: Mycroft returns home for Christmas after a long, stressful year.





	1. Quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NixxieFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixxieFic/gifts).



> from the Advent prompt generator
> 
> Scene-outside of London  
> Mention-snow  
> Use the word ‘busy’  
> Include “This is for you.”

Mycroft’s family home was as frigid and quiet as the grave. After they had settled their luggage away and brought the bags of groceries into the kitchen, Greg busied himself lighting a fire, while Mycroft went and put the kettle on.

The elder Holmes was not going to return ‘home’ this year, but as his parents had retreated to warmer climes and as Sherlock was well entwined in the lives of John and Rosie, there was no reason for him _not_ to return to the family manor. 

It would be a quiet, peaceful Christmas; just him and Greg rattling about the place. Serenity, he hoped for. Quiet walks in the wood at dusk or dawn, with only the sounds of snow falling mixed with their metered inhalations. He needed the silence to quiet the chaos of the hectic year still settling within his mind.

While the kettle boiled, Mycroft engaged the central heating; the fire would only go so far. He prepared a pot of tea along with the Christmas biscuits that had been left for him and Greg. He normally did not partake in such confectionary, but ‘tis the season after all. 

Mycroft carefully and artfully arranged the gingerbread men and Christmas tree biscuits and then carried the tray into the sitting room. In his absence, Greg had successfully lit a fire as well as the tree, and the fairy lights were glittering brightly on the large Fraser fir.

The sitting room was enveloped in a festive atmosphere; the scent of the fire and fir permeated the air. Mycroft noticed that there were several presents under the tree; Greg had indeed been busy! It was a stark change from how this house was after . . .. 

Mycroft forcibly stopped himself there. He would not think of that time, not now. Not with Greg here. And not after everything that had happened in more recent times.

Greg’s eyes lit up when he saw the tea tray and biscuits and he grinned broadly as he joined Mycroft on the sofa.

“Thanks, love.”

Mycroft found Greg’s enthusiasm endearing and contagious. He smiled in return; a genuine article, not the one he put on for show during the rest of the year.

The pair sat silently, companionably together enjoying this bit of respite, and Mycroft took great comfort in Greg’s presence. For not the first time, the younger man was grateful that Greg did not need to fill the air with inanity and commentary; that he was just happy enough to sit and enjoy a beverage with a loved one.

Slowly, the chaos began to settle within Mycroft’s mind and the tightness that had enveloped him for months, seemingly restricting his heart and lungs, began to unfurl. He felt settled, relaxed for the first time since Sherrinford; since the moment Sherlock and John had tormented him and he sighed contentedly.

Greg seemed to sense this change, put his mug down, and placed his arm around Mycroft, pulling him close. The last tendrils of stress and anxiety unleashed themselves, setting themselves figuratively into the fire, and Mycroft felt he was finally at peace.


	2. Together

The following morning was Christmas morning. Mycroft woke as eager as a child, not for the presents, but for the solace and calm that he sought. 

He carefully slipped from the bed, leaving Greg sleeping peacefully, and dressed quietly. Once downstairs, he pulled on his coat, scarf and gloves and made his way outside. Snow had fallen overnight, just enough to cover the ground and turn everything into a proverbial winter wonderland. 

Mycroft made his way to the woods, and there he stood waiting for the sun to rise. He watched as the day broke; pinks and oranges streaking and illuminating the sky before the sun rose slowly from the ashes of time.

He felt rather than heard Greg join him; his partner’s arm barely brushing against his own as they stood watching the sun break the horizon and golden light filtered through the bare trees, scattering like diamonds across the snow.

Greg exhaled at the wonder he had just witnessed, his breath a small cloud. “Fantastic,” he murmured, despite it being one of those wonders that was hard to put into words.

“Indeed,” Mycroft whispered into the dawn. He felt in awe of the sunrise and the emotions he had fought down for months rushed to the surface. He felt his eyes prickle with tears, and bit hard down on his bottom lip to keep them from streaming down his face.

They remained there for some time in quietude, neither of them yet willing to break the spell of what they had witnessed any further. Finally, Greg broke the silence. 

“Love?” He whispered, as his hand cupped Mycroft’s face. His thumb brushed away a solitary tear.

Mycroft looked down toward the snow, but his gloved hand found Greg’s and he placed it over his partner’s.

When Mycroft composed himself, he looked back up at Greg, who was staring at him in adoration. He wanted to break from the gaze, but he found he could not.

Once again, Greg broke the silence. “This is for you, if you’ll have me.” He had pulled a small parcel of tissue paper from the pocket of his wool coat. He placed it into Mycroft’s gloved hand with a nervous smile.

Mycroft looked down at the small circle of tissue paper. It didn’t take a genius to know what was inside.

“I . . .,” Mycroft began, suddenly unsure of himself.

He looked back up at Greg; his warm brown eyes patient but pleading. And Mycroft knew in that moment that it was meant to be. Mycroft pulled the older man toward him and kissed him for all he was worth.

When they finally pulled apart, it was not just Mycroft’s whose eyes were damp. This time, it was Mycroft who spoke first. “Of course, I will have you, my dear Gregory.”

The pair, arm in arm, then returned to the manor to celebrate a Christmas neither of them would ever forget. Mycroft Holmes, after five decades, had finally found home.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Nixxie-Pic who won my auction in the Mark Gatiss birthday drive. Apologies for taking so long. And please let me know if this doesn't suit at all! And I hope I got your username right; having lost my tumblr in the purge, I am at a loss!


End file.
